A Newsie Timeline
by Tag A Cake-Eater
Summary: It's present day 2004 and all of our beloved newsies work at Kloppman Inc., creator of The City Journal. But, when their boss goes missing, the newsies and some interns will recieve the chance of the lifetime. Literally.


Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or Timeline. I don't own Erin Green or Lillianah Cruicetti. I own William Greenlow, Janisse Santos, Becky Conners, Adriana Greenlow, Stephen Grayson, Noah Paulsen, Aiden Harrison, Mark Spaulding and Maxine Wilder.

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Yay! Another fic by Taggy. This one's a little different, though. So, just sit back, grab onto your favorite newsie, and enjoy the first chapter of this dark-ish, scientific fan fiction.

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William Greenlow gripped the steering wheel of his dark, royal blue Range Rover and felt the cool, strong air conditioning blowing on his face. The road ahead of him was nothing but dust. A short distance back, he had seen a small sign that read "Creek Meadow, New Mexico."

"Adriana, honey, check the map one more time. How far is it to the Corazon Canyon exit from Creek Meadow?" He glanced over at his wife sitting in the passenger's seat who was fumbling with the cheap map they bought at the Navajo gift shop a while back.

"The _Corazon _Canyon exit? I thought it was the _Horizon_ Canyon exit. The Corazon exit is 25 miles back." Adriana ended the sentence in a soft, innocent voice.

"Adriana! How could you be so foolish!? I distinctly told you the **Corazon** Canyon exit 57 times!" William was raising his hands in the air, his cheeks turning red with anger. "Adriana?! Are you even listening to me?!" His wife of 28 years had not been paying attention to William's yelling, but to something off the side of the road. William gazed at his wife, even more frustrated. The car started to veer to the right for nobody was steering it.

"William! Watch out!" Adriana shrieked. She reached out to grab the unattended steering wheel, but was too late. Something had bumped into the car. "There was a man there. That's what I was looking at. He just... appeared. Out of nowhere."

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"Over to the right, you'll see a statue of the famous journalist, Horace Greely." Stephen Grayson announced to his group. His company was running a summer program that took rising journalists to New York City to teach them how to "Survive in the Real Journalistic World". Today was only the second day; the day to finish up their tour.

The owner/founder of the company, Walter Kloppman, was working hard in his office when his top employee, Jack Kelly, poked his head in.

"Uh, Mr. Kloppman, sir, Stephen's almost done with the tour and you told him you'd have the rest of the days plans to him by the end." Jack prodded, stepping in the luxurious office.

"Yes, I did say that." Kloppman answered shortly, his head buried in paper.

"So... do you have them?" Jack asked, stepping forward and placing his hands on the edge of the desk. Kloppman looked up, his glasses at the end of his nose.

"Yes, I do." He replied, then went back to doing paperwork. Jack stood up straight and smiled.

"Great." He held out his hand to receive the folder, but it remained empty. "Um, Mr. Kloppman." He said, clearing his throat. Kloppman raised his head again, looking very annoyed.

"What, Kelly?"

"The plans...?" Jack asked again. "I need the plans." Kloppman simply nodded and reached into a drawer, revealing a manila folder with papers sticking out.

"There, are you happy now?" He asked, returning to his layout of that day's newspaper.

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William rushed into the Emergency Room of the closest hospital, Creek Meadow General, and watched as the doctors pushed a stretcher into an elevator. "Do you think he'll be OK?" He asked a nurse nearby, checking for the old man's records.  
  
"I don't know. Did you say what his name was, Mr. Greenlow?" The nurse requested, flipping through piles of records, x-rays, and prescriptions.

"No, I didn't. I don't even know his name, or who he is, or how he got here." William replied, rubbing his arm comfortingly. "My wife said he just appeared." The nurse stopped rummaging and stared at the old man.

"Appeared? Like, out of... nowhere?"

"Out of nowhere." William nodded.

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Janisse Santos scribbled out a description of New York City on her notepad, her tongue sticking out at the corner. After the tour, they were given an assignment to describe the city today and what they think it would have been like 200 years ago. _Maybe I'll throw some dirt roads and a couple of fruit stands in there._ She thought, smiling at herself for her incredible ideas.

"Ok, time's up." Stephen announced. He went around the small, stuffy classroom and collected the papers of the interns. There were only two rows of three desks, with a bigger desk and chair in the front. Sitting in the first desk of the first row was Becky Conners. She was a southern girl, born and raised in Georgia with straight, light brown hair and a tall structure. Sitting next to her was Aiden Harrison, born in Baltimore, Maryland. He had dark brown hair with matching dark brown eyes. Then, there was Erin Green, a native of Chicago, Illinois. A mop of thick, curly brown hair sat atop her head with a few pink streaks underneath. Behind her was Noah Paulsen. He grew up in Los Angeles and sported a head full of blonde hair, blue shimmering eyes hidden by sunglasses, and constantly tan skin. Next to him was Lillianah Cruicetti, who lived there, in New York City . She showed off a punk style with black, blue, and purple hair, but had classic blue eyes. Last, there was Janisse Santos who called Columbia her home and modeled black hair, black eyes and olive skin.

"Ok, now that I know you're writing styles, I can introduce you to the staff here at Kloppman Inc. , producer of _The City Journal_. If you will please follow me through this door." Stephen announced, leading the group down a long, bright, cream hall that smelled of pine scented cleaner.

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"Mr. Greenlow?" A man in thick-framed glasses and a white coat came into the waiting room, a clipboard glued in his hands. "You brought in the old man, didn't you?"

William nodded, nervousness flooding his body. "How is he?"

The doctor opened his mouth, but didn't speak. He shifted his clipboard and pushed his glasses up, giving a heavy sigh. "You'd better come with me."

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Maxine Wilder bit her lip as she sat in the spacious office of Walter Kloppman, Mark Spaulding next to her. She tugged at her dark tweed skirt and glanced at her adjacent co-worker. They had come to Kloppman Inc. to, we'll say, check up on things. They worked for the New York City branch of Simon Scientific Studies. The main headquarters was in a small, virtually deserted town in New Mexico next to Creek Meadow. Walter Kloppman had agreed to let them study his company; Kloppman Inc. was big on writing about the city life 200 or more years ago and that was right up the SSS alley.

"Mr. Kloppman, sir, we would just like to take a tour of the city, read what your interns guessed it was like in the 1800's and have you come to New Mexico." Maxine persuaded, knowing exactly what her boss meant when he said "Have Kloppman come down here to... test his knowledge of the old city" ending his statement with a loud, almost evil guffaw.

"Touring the city would take far too much time. Reading my interns papers... an invasion of privacy, don't you think? And going to New Mexico. Well, we'll see about that. I might actually consider it, lucky for you." Kloppman replied, bustling around his desk. "Why do **I** need to go to New Mexico, anyways? Can't one of my employees go? Like... Jack. Jack Kelly. He's always been fascinated with New Mexico. I'll get him down here right away."

Maxine shook her head furiously as Kloppman reached for his phone buried underneath countless layouts. "No, not Jack Kelly. It must be you. There's something you need to see. Something you need to do. Something regarding our _machine_."

Kloppman's eyes widened. "Oh. I see. Well, we shall leave immediately."

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Alllll right. How do y'all like it? I've been writing it for months now, but I could never get this first chapter quite right.

I kind of hate to leave it on this cliff hanger type deal, but I don't want it to get too long.

SPECS: Well, this is pretty long for you, Taggy dear.

I know, right? 3 pages on Word? Sheesh!

SPECS: wink Please review.


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